


The Dragons of Dorne

by MsMitty



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Aftermath, Alternate Universe, Dorne, F/M, Gen, House Martell, No More Iron Throne, Not Canon Compliant, The Seven Kingdoms are Independent
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-20
Updated: 2019-12-17
Packaged: 2020-05-15 09:47:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19293235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsMitty/pseuds/MsMitty
Summary: Winter is over. The Night King is dead. No one sits on the Iron Throne now, and the kingdoms of Westeros are independent. Aegon and Arya will have to rule Dorne together, until Princess Ashara comes of age. But being a family is more challenging than they thought while knowing the peace came at a terrible cost.A collection of one-shots about Aegon, Arya, and their niece and nephew living in Dorne after the events ofDragonspawn.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, guys! So, I'm back... kind of. I know it's been years since I finished _Dragonspawn_ , and the thing is, I lost interest in the GoT fandom. So, this is not exactly a sequel, but a collection of the one-shots I promised. I don't know how many of them there will be, since my muse is gone. Please be patient with me. Ideas and suggestions are greatly appreciated :)
> 
> These one-shots won't make much sense if you're not familiar with the main story.

_Dear Jon,_

_Remember how much I hated it every time Father told me that I was destined to marry a lord and rule his castle? Sometimes I wonder what he would say if he knew I was to marry the Prince Regent of Dorne, and the only dragon rider in the realm. The truth is, with Aegon, I have all the freedom I could ever dream of, and more. We returned from our latest trip from Essos a fortnight ago, for example, and I saw things I couldn’t even dream of seeing. We walked on the ruins of Old Valyria, stayed in the golden houses of Yi Ti, met the god-empress of Leng and even earned her favor. I collected manticore venom and basilisk blood for my poisons. Unfortunately, we couldn’t find what we originally came for._

_I don’t need to be a Targaryen to see that Viserion misses his mother and his brothers. Daenerys and Drogon died defending the North from the army of the dead, and no one has seen Rhaegal since Rhaenys’ death. Aegon is hoping to find him before Ashara and Lewyn comes of age. If we fail to find him, maybe we can find dragon eggs. Aegon thinks he can hatch them with magic, even if they are petrified. He is desperate to give the twins their own dragons. I understand. They are Martells, but the Martells are the Dragons of Dorne now._

Arya froze when Aegon stormed into the solar. He seemed hectic. His handsome face was twisted with panic, his graceful hands closed in tight fists. He had never been the same after the Great War, but at times like these, it became more obvious than usual. “The twins are gone! The guards can’t find them. Fools!”

She calmly set the quill in her hand aside. “Do you want me to do it?”

He released a deep breath of relief, as if they had already been found. “Please?”

This made her chuckle.

“If any harm comes to them…”

“Aegon, we’re at Sunspear. What can possibly happen to them?”

“I… I don’t know. Many things…”

Arya went to embrace him. “Wait here. I’ll be back soon.”

“No. Take them to the throne room. I’ll be there.”

“As you wish.”

She gave him a kiss on the lips, and walked out of the solar. Ashara and Lewyn might have mastered the art of eluding the guards, but they couldn’t deceive a former Faceless Man. The clues they had left behind led Arya to the crypts.

The crypts of Sunspear were nothing like the crypts of Winterfell. Even though most Dornishmen weren’t particularly pious, they worshiped the Seven. Therefore, the tombs of the royal family were beneath the small Sept, not the castle. It was hot and dust down here, while the crypts of Winterfell were always cold.

“See? I was right!” she heard Ashara whisper excitedly, and hid behind a column. She wanted to see what they were up to. “The Lightbringer is here! Uncle Aegon buried it with her!”

By the gods, they had opened Rhaenys’ tomb! Aegon was going to be furious.

“So what?” Lewyn asked. “The Mountain is dead. The Night King is dead. Why would you need a magical flaming sword?”

“It’s still Valyrian steel, silly! This sword is my birthright. They kept it from me.”

“Perhaps it was because you’re still not worthy of it? This is no toy, Ashara.”

Arya heard the sound of the sword being unsheathed.

“I’ll show you worthy! Come on, brother, draw your sword!”

“I’m not going to spar you with live steel.”

“You’re going to have to!”

Arya stepped out from the shadows. “Ashara, that’s enough!”

The twins froze when they saw her.

“Aunt Arya, we—“ Ashara started, but Arya raised a hand to silence her.

Arya approached Rhaenys’ tomb to look inside. The flesh had been rotten away. Even her long, black, beautiful hair was gone. Her skull and bones were all that was left from the first Dragon of Dorne.

The twins were strong, you had to give them that. It was no easy feat for two children of 10 years to be able to push that heavy stone lid open. Though they weren’t going to get any praise for it.

“Look at that,” Arya scolded them, showing them of Rhaenys’ bones. “That’s your mother! The woman who pushed you out of her womb while fighting a war! The woman who would’ve fed you at her own breasts if her torturers in Meereen hadn’t cut her nipples off! And you disturb her rest for what? A sword?”

“We are sorry, Aunt Arya,” Lewyn said dutifully, and Arya knew he meant it. She wasn’t so certain about Ashara, though.

“Ashara?”

The princess remained silent, with a hard, stubborn look on her face.

“Do you think you’re ready to spar with not only live steel, but Valyrian steel? Prove it, then.” Arya drew her own sword, Dark Sister. The famous twin of Queen Rhaenys’ lost sword, who would later come to their Rhaenys, and be named Dragonspawn. Bran had brought Dark Sister for Arya from somewhere beyond the Wall. Arya had offered to give it to Rhaenys once, for it belonged to her ancestors, and because she had twins, it would be fitting to give them the twin swords, but she had refused. _“You are the sister I choose,”_ she had told Arya.

Ashara raised Dragonspawn, and readied herself. Arya started with easy, slow attacks, just to see what she would do with such a fine blade, but got bored quickly, and sent Dragonspawn flying off. It angered Ashara. She ran to pick it up, and raised it again.

“Another round?”

“ _Dracarys_!” she cried, much to Arya’s surprise.

Nothing happened, of course.

“ _Dracarys_!” she repeated.

“Who told you to say that word?”

“No one. I read the stories. That’s how you ignite the Lightbringer.”

“The stories never tell you what you really need to know.”

“And what is that?” she demanded impatiently.

“A Lightbringer dies with its wielder. It won’t serve you, or anyone else.”

A look of disappointment crossed her face. “Oh.”

“But if you’d been able to summon the flames, what were you going to do? Burn us?”

“What? No! I’d never harm you, Aunt Arya! Or Lewyn! I love you!”

Arya smiled, took the sword from Ashara’s hands, and sheathed it. “You have your mother’s fire. Speaking of, you must close the tomb.”

The twins nodded, and got to work. They were struggling a bit, but Arya wasn’t going to help them. They had opened the tomb on their own, now they were going to close it themselves.

All of a sudden, Ashara paused, panting heavily. “Shouldn’t we put her sword back?”

Arya thought for a moment. “Your brother was right. This is no toy. _This is no toy._ This was what my father told me when he found my first sword. And it wasn’t even Valyrian steel.”

“I was being reckless, I know.”

“No, you don’t. Here’s another piece of knowledge you can’t find in the stories: Do you know why your mother wore a dragon hide armor while wielding this sword? To protect herself from its fire. If you’d been able to command it, you could’ve lost your hands. Both of them. Now, keep going. Maybe what happened here tonight is a sign that Dragonspawn shouldn’t remain buried.”

Once they finished closing the lid, Arya took them to the top of the Tower of the Sun, where the throne room was.

“Wait here,” she told them. She looked at the guards at the door, and they nodded before opening the doors for her. She wanted to talk to Aegon herself first and make sure he wouldn’t punish the twins more harshly than they deserved.

* * *

 

Aegon was thoughtfully sitting in the seat with the blazing Rhoynar sun, and Arya had taken her place beside him, in the seat with the Martell spear when the guards finally let the twins in. They would never know the kind, peaceful, lively man their uncle used to be. They only knew him as a dispassionate, grim ruler who took his duty of raising his niece and nephew very seriously, like he took everything else. _“I am destined to be the Great Other one day,”_ he often said. _“I am destined to rule the darkness. I must learn how to do it while I am still a man.”_

“Why?” was the first word that came out of his mouth.

“It was my idea,” Lewyn lied. “I thought our mother’s sword could be buried with her. I wanted to see it for myself. I forced Ashara to help me.”

The young prince’s attempt to protect his sister brought a rare smile on Aegon’s lips. “You remind me of myself, nephew. But not, it wasn’t your idea.”

“It was mine,” Ashara admitted. “I apologize.”

“Still, the question remains… Why?”

“Because I knew you were lying to us! I knew Dragonspawn wasn’t lost! I wanted to prove it! So, I ask you the same question, Uncle. Why? Why did you lie to us?”

“That sword brought nothing but suffering to our family. I wanted to protect you from its curse. Every rule I make is for your own protection. Can you not see that? My mother is dead. My uncles are dead. So are my cousins. Your mother died of her wounds when you were in the cradle. You are her only heirs. What will happen to Dorne, to House Nymeros Martell, if anything happens to you?”

It didn’t escape Arya’s notice how he conveniently left out the fact that he and Arya couldn’t produce any heirs. Because of the wounds the Waif had given her in Braavos, she would never be able to bear any children. Perhaps she had done this on purpose, knowing Arya was the daughter of a great lord, and she would return to Westeros one day. But Aegon hadn’t cared. Here, no one expected anything from her. He had made sure of it.

“Our mother’s line will cease to exist,” Ashara said.

“Yes. For your disobedience, you and Lewyn will be locked in your chambers for a week. You may go now.”

They left the throne room without any protest.

“I suppose they count themselves lucky you didn’t send them to the dungeons,” Arya joked once they were alone.

“Dungeons? I am not that cruel… Am I?”

She took his hand into hers. “They miss their mother. They want to know more about her. You can’t keep the truth from them forever.”

Aegon sighed. “Raising your dead sister’s children is harder than I imagined. My uncles would make it look so easy. Especially Oberyn.”

“I know.”

“I’m sorry, Arya. You went against your every instinct when you agreed to marry me, I cannot be the husband you deserve. But I also don’t know where I would be now without you. My burden, my destiny… Sometimes it’s too much.”

“I didn't go against anything. I married you because I wanted to. You're forgetting that I lost a part of myself to the darkness, too. It was the only way for me to become who I wanted to be, so I don’t regret anything. But I cannot deny the fact that it took something from me.”

He looked at her with a small smile. “Then I suppose we will be alright.”

“We will.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a chapter about the immediate aftermath of the war. I hope you like it. Sorry it took me so long. Like I said, I lost interest in the fandom and it's not easy for me to write for it. But if there are other specific one-shots you want to see, let me know. I can't make any promises, but I'll try :)

Arya couldn’t remember when was the last Winterfell had been so quiet. The damnable royal feast that had marked the end of the happier times clouded the earlier memories, and ever since she had returned home, Winterfell had felt more like a military base than… home. Everyone had been so busy with the Great War, and now that it was over, Winterfell felt hollow, like everything else. The dead had been burnt. The armies had left. The surviving Dothraki had returned to Essos. They had come to the believe that Westeros was cursed and no Dothraki should cross the poison water again. The Unsullied had returned to Essos, too, to join the Second Sons and control the Bay of Dragons.

The dragons were gone as well. Drogon was dead. Rheagal had disappeared. And Viserion… Aegon had taken Viserion; they were going to die somewhere beyond Asshai, if they hadn’t already. Fool. Aegon was a fool, to swear revenge on a god.

She found Jon in the half-burnt godswood. She had thought Bran would be there, too, but he wasn’t. It was only Jon. He saw sitting by the pond, like their father once did, looking at Longclaw thoughtfully.

“Father would be devastated if he could see this place now.”

“Aye. _Father_ …”

She sat down beside him. “You’re going to tell the lords…”

“I have to. They chose me to be the King in the North because they thought I was Ned Stark’s son.”

“No. They chose you because you’re a Stark. Are you not?”

“I don’t know what I am anymore, Arya.”

“You can be many things at once. Nothing wrong with that.”

He opened his mouth to say something, but the conversation was interrupted by the shrieks of a dragon in the distance.

“Perhaps it’s Rhaegal?” Arya said quickly.

“How do you know?”

Arya shrugged. If it wasn’t Rhaegal… No, it had to be Rhaegal. Aegon had made his choice. He had left. He wasn’t coming back. Arya wasn’t a stupid girl who would shed tears over a man.

Jon stood up and craned his neck to see better. “It’s Viserion,” he said.

She remained stubbornly put. Was Aegon back? Why? It had been merely a day; what had changed? Or maybe, it was just Viserion, without a rider. Maybe Aegon had already perished.

The ground shook slightly when the dragon landed, Arya still refused to look up. She didn’t want to see. But Aegon’s voice reached her nevertheless. “Arya?”

Arya lifted her head. Aegon was dismounting Viserion. He was back.

“What are you doing here?” Jon asked him.

“I came to apologize. Can I have a moment with her?”

Jon gave her a questioning look. She nodded, so he walked away, though reluctantly.

Once they were alone, Aegon started, “I am sorry, Arya. I know I broke your heart.”

“Why? Because we fucked but I didn’t become the most important thing in your life? Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Right… Your heart isn’t broken easily.”

“Why aren’t you in Stygai?”

“I didn’t have to go. I found answers. I… I consumed the shade of the evening, and ended up somewhere between this world and the… darkness.”

“How did that happen?”

“I don’t know. But I met my mother… May I sit down?”

Arya nodded. He came to sit down beside her, where Jon had been sitting.

“She told me I didn’t have to go to Stygai. I will fulfill my destiny one way, or the other. I might as well try to live as a mere man first.”

“What’s your destiny?”

“I’m the Great Other.”

“What in seven hells are you talking about? Are you going to become the next Night King?”

“Oh, no. We were wrong to think the Great Other was the Night King. He was just a pawn. Like the three-eyed raven.”

“My brother is not—“

“He’s not your brother, Arya. He’s not anyone’s brother. Not anymore. Another thing my mother told me.”

No. Of course Bran was her brother. How could he not be? Aegon was wrong. He was lying because he blamed Bran for Rhaenys’ death.

Arya remembered how Sansa was when she was betrothed to Joffrey, how willing she was to betray her own blood for him. Arya didn’t blame her for being like that anymore; she was just being the proper lady their mother and Septa Mordane had taught her to be. And being a proper lady had got them killed.

Arya had never thought she would be tested the way Sansa had, but here they were. She felt insulted. She didn’t care how handsome, strong, kind, or thoughtful Aegon was. She was going to choose her family.

“Leave,” she snarled. “Leave, and never come back.”

“Arya, I love you!”

“And I love my family. They’re everything to me. And you’re nothing. So, leave.”

In response, Aegon simply looked at the sword at her hip. “Rhaenys gave you Dark Sister for a reason. If she were here—“

She stood up, unbuckled it hastily, and gave it to Aegon. “Then it’s a good thing she’s not here, isn’t it? I already have a sword, I don’t need this.”

“As you wish, my lady.” He bowed respectfully, turned around, climbed on Viserion’s back, and left.

* * *

 

There was a time Aegon rarely went to the sept at Sunspear. Now, he came here every day, to visit his sister. He could believe this was how the gods punished him, if he didn’t know he was a god himself. He tried not to think much about it, but the thought was still there, nagging at his mind.

“I wish Mother hadn’t told me… She had to stop me, I know. Don’t get me wrong, Rhaenys. I do want to avenge you. I just don’t know how this is going to happen. I don’t feel like a god. I don’t even know what a god is supposed to feel like. This would be easier if you were here.”

“Everything would be easier if she were here.”

Aegon turned around. Maester Caloette. He wondered how much he had heard. He looked like he was doubting Aegon’s sanity.

He bowed. “My prince.”

“Maester.”

He approached. “I miss her, too. And everyone else. Obara, Nymeria, Princes Doran, Oberyn and Trystane…”

“You never knew Arianne and Quentyn, did you?” Caleotte was a young maester.

“No.”

“I barely remember them. I was too young when they died.” They had tombs here, too, but they were empty, for their bodies were lost in the Narrow Sea.

“You’ve lost too much, my prince. But you have to remain strong. For Dorne. For the Sand Snakes. For your niece and nephew.”

“What is it, Caleotte?” Caleotte always said things like that when he had news from the realm.

“House Velaryon has claimed the crownlands.”

“Good.” Sooner or later, one of the small houses would want King’s Landing for themselves. Shortly after Rhaenys’ funeral, Aegon had taken Viserion and flown to King’s Landing in his rage and grief, and burnt the Red Keep to the ground, knowing how much both Rhaenys and Oberyn hated it. He hadn’t intended to hurt the innocent, but with no one to rule the city for a time—everyone was too afraid to risk a dragonlord’s wrath—it had plunged into chaos. Starvation, rape, murder, plundering… Many had fled. Aegon had to accept many refugees into Dorne to ease his conscience, though his people weren’t very happy about this. He didn’t know what to do. But if King’s Landing had a lord now, he could send the refugees back.

“There’s one more thing,” he said uncomfortably.

“Tell me.”

“My prince… We… The guards captured an intruder sneaking into the castle.”

Aegon jumped a little where he stood. “Who?”

Caleotte remained silent.

“Who?” he repeated, this time more loudly. “An assassin?” Mayhaps someone wanted the twins dead. _Fuck_. He should never leave them out of sight. What was he thinking, coming here every morning? Someone must have noticed his pattern…

“It was Arya Stark.”

Arya… Arya was here. His heart made a leap in his chest. She had come. Had she finally forgiven him?

“The guards didn’t capture her, Caleotte. She wanted to be found… Where’s she now?”

“With Tyene.”

He set off, and after that, everything was a blur until he made it to Tyene’s chambers. She was here, indeed, drinking lemonsweet with Tyene and laughing at something. They froze when Aegon entered.

“Finally,” Tyene said. “I was starting to think no one here had the balls to tell you.”

Right. Now he was the Martell infamous for his temper… He and Arya looked at each other in silence. He didn’t know what to tell her. And apparently, neither did she.

“Aegon, why don’t you show her around? I know Sunspear doesn’t have much to offer, but once we’re done here, maybe we can take her to the Water Gardens.”

“If Arya doesn’t mind…”

“No,” she replied curtly, got on her feet, and they walked out of Tyene’s solar, side by side, but too scared to touch each other.

He was heading for the Tower of the Sun. Arya would probably want to see Nymeria’s throne, though she wouldn’t have come here all the way from Winterfell just to see things.

“Tyene looks better,” she commented as they climbed to the top.

“She’s getting better. But I don’t think she would’ve survived her time in the dungeons without you… Thank you.”

“Why are you thanking me for? I was a prisoner, too.”

“Were you?”

She frowned suspiciously.

“Come on, Arya. We both know you could’ve escaped if you’d wanted. Yet, you stayed.”

“I didn’t do it for her. Not at first. Cersei told everyone that I was a Faceless Man. If I’d escaped, I would’ve proven her right.”

“That’s clever.”

“I wish I could do more for Tyene, though.”

They had reached the top floor. Two guards opened the doors to the throne room. Aegon and Arya entered.

“There they are,” he said. “The sun and the spear.”

She took a moment to study the thrones. “They’re more beautiful than I imagined.”

“And much more comfortable than the Iron Throne.”

“Is that why you destroyed it?”

“I don’t know why I did that, Arya. I just had to destroy something. Mayhaps I am a dragon, after all.”

“One can be many things.”

“Why are you here, Arya?” he finally asked. He had to know.

“Bran is gone.”

“What?”

“He’s gone. He wanted a saddle, like the one Tyrion had once made for him. We thought he just wanted to ride again. But then, one morning, we woke up, and he was gone. So was his horse.”

“Do you want me to find him? Because I won’t do that.”

“I know you won’t. I just want you to tell me: What happened to him?”

“I don’t know, Arya.”

“Is he… possessed?”

“I don’t know.”

“You said you had answers!”

“Not all of them.”

“Don’t you want to know what the tree-eyed raven is?” she cried. “Or, do you want to believe it was my brother that lured your sister into a trap?”

“So, you admit he’s guilty…”

“The tree-eyed raven is guilty! And he’s not Bran! He’s not my brother! My brother wouldn’t have left us like that.”

Tears welled in her eyes, but when he reached to touch her face, she slapped his hand away. He didn’t insist. He loved her. He knew that long before she had met her. But it didn’t mean she had to love him back.

“I am telling you the truth. I don’t know what happened to your brother.”

“Don’t you want to find out?”

“I am scared to know, Arya. I am scared to know anything.”

“Since when?”

“Since I realized there is no escaping fate. So, if Bran is the only reason you are here, don’t waste your time. Go to the Reach. Sam might be able to help you.”

For a moment, she didn’t say anything, like she was considering the option. Then, suddenly, she blurted out, “I didn’t come here just for Bran. I wanted to see you.”

He smiled. “I’m happy to hear that.”

“Winterfell… Winterfell is just not to same. It’s not the home I remember. I didn’t know where else to go.”

“You can stay here if you want.”

“For how long?”

“As long as you want.”

“I can’t do that.”

He came up with an idea. “Alright. How about this: Give me a fortnight. Give me a fortnight to make you the happiest girl in the realm. If I fail, you leave.”

“And if you win?”

“We wed.”

“No.”

“It wouldn’t be as bad as you think.”

“It would still be bad enough.”

“I am offended. What do you think I am going to do to you? Lock you up in a castle? Expect you to give me ten children?”

“I can’t give you any children. Not even one.”

“Fine.”

“I _can’t_ , Aegon! Not even if I wanted to! Remember that scars on my belly?”

“Oh,” said Aegon when the realization dawned on him. “You didn’t know before?”

“I suspected it, but I didn’t care. After the war, it didn’t take the Northern lords for long to start whispering about suitable matches. I went to see the maester and confirmed it. I spread the rumors myself. I just wanted them to shut up for good.”

“I don’t care.” It was the truth. “We have the twins, and the Sand Snakes. Even after all that loss, this house is large enough. Help me raise them to be strong, like you. It is all I ask.”

Arya approached him, eyes fixated on his face, and stroked his hair. Aegon had missed her touch. “You seem different here,” she said.

“Different how?”

“In King’s Landing, or the North, you were so… out of place. Like you were from a magical realm. But here, you look like you’re home. Like this is the magical realm you belong in.”

“You can be a part of it, too.”

“A fortnight, you say… Very well. Where do we begin?”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is a chapter about Arya's first days in Dorne, as requested. Sorry, I had to re-upload it due to a glitch.

It wasn’t supposed to be this hot. It was only spring. Arya didn’t like the heat. It reminded her of her first days in King’s Landing. Dorne was a hundred times worse. No wonder everyone here was half-naked. She didn’t want to dress like that; she didn’t want anyone to think she was here to seduce Aegon, especially Aegon himself. But with every bead of sweat, the Dornish garments that had been left for her on the silk cushioned stools were becoming more tempting.

“Like he needs any seducing,” she finally muttered to herself, and changed into a sand-colored tunic and a pair of breeches.

The garments weren’t the only things that had been left for her. Dark Sister had been beckoning at her, in the corner as well, ever since she had stepped into the chambers.

After Arya had agreed to stay here for a fortnight, not much had happened. They had stayed in the throne room while the guest chambers were prepared for her, and talked about the latest news from King’s Landing. He still didn’t regret having burnt the Red Keep to the ground, and to be honest, Arya didn’t think he should either. She was glad that Aegon had undone his namesake’s conquest. Without the seat of power, King’s Landing was nothing but an ordinary city.

When a maid had come to tell them that the guest chambers were ready, Aegon had let Arya go with her, promising he would come to visit her later. Arya had been waiting for him, but he hadn’t come yet. In fact, no one had. No meddlesome servants to bring her plates of food, asking if she wished to bathe, or trying to keep her entertained. Mayhaps Aegon was doing this on purpose, to give her a taste of the freedom he had promised. He knew she would prefer to explore the castle on her own, or go the kitchens herself if she became hungry.

This wasn’t going to be enough to impress her. She didn’t want to marry him. She didn’t want to marry anyone. But then, she didn’t want to return to Winterfell either. It was just not the same anymore. Perhaps because there was nothing that stopped her from going there. If only she knew what she wanted.

She knew she wanted to see the world, but how big was the world? She wanted to be able to go to their help if Jon and Sansa needed her. Because she didn’t want to spend the rest of her life in Winterfell didn’t mean she didn’t care about them anymore. Family was the reason she was here in the first place. She needed Aegon to find out what in seven hells had happened to Bran. And deep down, Arya knew he would do it. It wasn’t Bran himself he hated; the sweet, innocent Bran she remembered would never lure a friend into such a cruel trap, especially knowing it would lead to her ultimate downfall. Whatever controlled Bran was their enemy, and Arya wanted to destroy it as much as Aegon did.

“Arya? May I come in?”

Aegon was here. At last. “Yes.”

He entered. “My apologies. I had to see to many things before we left Sunspear.”

“Are we leaving Sunspear?” she asked, confused.

“Like I said, I don’t know what happened to Bran, but there are people who might. The orphans of the Greenblood… Their elders.”

“I’ve heard of them. Weren’t they the ones who warned Rhaenys that Dragonspawn was cursed?”

“Aye.”

Well, it was worth a try. After all, they had been right before. “Alright. Let’s go.”

Aegon shot her a questioning, but content look as she buckled Dark Sister. Then he said, “You should cover your head and face, too. You wouldn’t want to breathe sand, trust me.”

He had wrapped a helmet in a long scarf around his head. Arya grabbed an orange scarf, and tried to bind it in the same fashion, but it was harder than she had imagined. After allowing her a moment of struggle, Aegon laughed, and showed her how to do it properly. Then they went down to the stables. Her mare was here, but Aegon advised against taking her with them.

“The desert is a cruel place for the horses of the North,” he said, bringing forth a slim, white horse. A sand steed.

“He’s beautiful,” she said, stroking the stallion’s silky, silver mane.

“A gift from Tyene.”

Arya jumped on the horse, and Aegon followed her example, with his own black steed.

“Can’t you just call Viserion?” Honestly, why would you need horses when you had a dragon?

“I could, but then you’d never know what it’s like to travel in the desert.” He pulled his veil over the lower half of his face, and once again, Arya imitated him. She had been a traveler for long enough to know that local customs existed for a reason, and there was no harm in adapting to them.

They spurred their horses, and galloped out of Sunspear, into the shadow city. Now that the scorching sun had set, the town was more alive. It was some consolation to know that not even the Dornishmen were completely insensible to the heat. There were many shops here, but they were all but a blur as Arya rode past them. Exploring the shadow city was going to have to wait.

Soon, they had left Sunspear behind, and were in the desert. Arya was glad that she had left her own horse behind; any horse that was heavier than a sand steed would sink into the sands and that would slow them down.  She also wished she could cover her eyes, too, for the sand in them made them watery and irritated. But other than that, it was beautiful out here. So quiet. Peaceful. She could now see the appeal of a life in the desert, at least from dusk till dawn.

“Are there any settlements in the midst of the Dornish desert?” she asked.

Aegon pulled his horse to a halt, and looked up. He was using the stars to find his way. “Well, there are oases… You need water to build any settlement. A desert holdfast stands as long as the water flows. Remind me to take you to Shandystone sometime. There is not much to see, but I have always liked it there.”

“Alright.”

He urged on his horse again, and Arya couldn’t help but realize how handsome he looked. He was more of a prince of the sands than a prince of the skies.

* * *

Queen Nymeria had always been one of Arya’s heroines, but now she knew that her decision to burn the ten thousand ships hadn’t made everyone happy. The orphans of the Greenblood were the descendants of the people who would have rather returned home. Aegon had said they worshiped the river or something, and Arya tried not to judge them. After all, most Starks traditionally worshiped trees. Some people worshiped what gave life, as opposed to what took it.

When she heard the music and the laughter, and saw the lights in the distance, she knew they were getting close. Eventually, she saw the rafts, and the people who were singing and dancing on them. They stopped, and dismounted. A lanky boy, who wasn’t much older than Aegon, approached them. He was olive-skinned, like most Dornishmen, had a long nose and a jade stud in one ear. He greeted Aegon with a hug, and Aegon seemed equally happy to see him. He then turned to Arya and bowed.

“Princess Arya…”

“Just Arya,” she corrected him. She knew being a princess was supposed to be honor in Dorne, but it still sounded worse than “Lady.”

He chuckled. “The Martells don’t like standing on ceremony either. You will fit right in. I am Garin, by the way. My mother and grandmother are expecting you. This way.”

As they made their way to one of the rafts on the Greenblood, Aegon said casually, “Garin’s mother was the one who delivered the twins. And her mother is among the elders who trained me in water magic.”

As expected, there were two women inside the boat; a middle-aged one, and a much elderly one. Like Garin, they were dark, slender and had long noses. Aegon greeted them, and not knowing what else to do, Arya nodded to them politely. Then the midwife left them alone with her mother. Aegon sat down on the wooden floor across from the elder orphan, cross-legged, and Arya sat down on his left, eager to hear what the woman had to say about Bran.

But she started with something else. “You still mourn her. As do many of us here.”

“Rhaenys was a legend. I can never replace her.”

“You will not. Your destiny lies elsewhere.”

“What about Bran Stark’s destiny?”

“Bran Stark is no more.”

“What?” Arya snapped at her. “What do you mean, no more? What happened to my brother?”

“Arya…” Aegon gently placed a hand on her shoulder to calm her down. “Please. I told you I would get you answers. I never said you would like them. Do you wish to know the truth, or not?”

Arya had to remember her training to calm down. “I do.”

“Then let me speak to her.”

They continued to converse in a language Arya didn’t understand. It was probably Rhoynish, the forbidden language of the Rhoynar. She knew Aegon spoke it. By the time it ended, Aegon was shaking. He stormed off the boat. Arya followed her.

“Aegon? What happened?”

Before he could answer, Garin appeared again. “You two are staying here tonight, right? Let me show you to your boat. Then you can either rest, or join the revels.”

Whatever it was that troubled him, Aegon was apparently not going to share it with his friend. He followed Garin to another raft with a stoic look on his face. Once they were alone on the deck, he shifted on his feet uncomfortably. “Damn you, Garin… He must have assumed we wished to share the same boat. You take this one, I will find another.”

“No, wait! We can share it.”

“Are you sure?”

“I am. Just tell me what that woman told you.”

They went inside. No beds, but there were large cushions on the floor. They both seated themselves on one in the corner. Arya looked at him expectantly.

“Your brother is gone,” he said curtly. “His body is a vessel for the Three-Eyed Raven. I am sorry.”

Arya had been preparing herself to hear this for some time. Bran wasn’t the first brother she had lost. But she had hoped something could be done to save him. From the way Aegon spoke, that wasn’t possible.

 _He was going to die anyway_ , she reminded herself bitterly.  _If he hadn’t been killed by the Three-Eyed Raven, he would have died somewhere beyond the Wall, or killed by Theon when he had taken over Winterfell, or he would have died along with Rickon, at the hands of Ramsay._

“Was he there at all?” she asked. “When he returned to Winterfell? Or was he already gone by then?”

“A part of him was. The process was gradual. He might have even fought back, as long as he could.”

Arya swallowed thickly, not knowing what to say.  _Valar morghulis_ … Bran had died, like all men would. At least he had died in his home, surrounded by family.


End file.
